A New Hope

 

Sitting at high in his Castle, Malvegil opens the letters he receives as part of his Lordship duties.

 

Ahh, one from my uncle, he seems to have responded to the letter I wrote months ago.

 

The letter reads:

 

Dear Nephew,

 

            The wars here have ceased, the tribes have been united and now we rejoice in the holy one’s guidance.   The deserts of Persia never looked more pristine that now.  The blood long gone from the dunes, and the angelic oasis’s flourish in the graves of the fallen.  It is a good time here; our training, resolve and adherence have led us to victory and peace.

 

But then I receive a letter from my favorite Nephew, and I hear your war has reached a serious stalemate.  By the time this letter reaches you I would assume you have captured most, if not all, the sacred relics of your enemies. 

 

If thou needs any from you Uncle, I will come to thine aid.    May the Father bless you.

 

Your Uncle,

 

Mormegil

 

The return letter

 

--

 

Dear Uncle,

 

            Much has passed here in the shining Kingdom of Albion.   The foes of Midgard have been reduced to tribes of savages who only fight amongst themselves.   But our greatest foe has grown stronger, we still are stalemated, but I fear the longer we await, the more power they will grow.  Herein I state my problem.

 

The Hibernian’s use the magic of the mind to petrify our brave Knights, lest we have few in our realm who practice yet even understand this strange magic.  

 

It has been said that in Persia, they have mastered this magic, to a different degree than our Avalonian brothers; I feel your expertise in the Persian Sorcery might be able to help us turn the tide of this war. 

 

Uncle, I invite you on my expense to come fight for my kingdom and for my home.

 

Your Nephew,

 

Malvegil

 

Many weeks later, and after many battles Malvegil returns to his Castle.   Quietly his wife brings him the latest letters.  Opening the letters he quickly reads and gasps.   Suddenly bursting out of his chair he hugs his wife.

 

“Yes, we must prepare!”

 

Boggled, she reads the letter.

 

Dear Nephew,

 

            As I write this my caravan awaits.  I shall cross the deserts and the sea to come thy aid.

 

I come to aid of all my kin, whether they be in the next town, continent or world.  

 

Prepare for me.

 

Your Uncle,

 

Mormegil

 

More weeks pass.  Finally a messenger reaches Malvegil’s Castle.

 

“You uncle hath landed, he approaches within the hour!” 

 

Quickly Malvegil sets his servants to prepare a feast and celebration.   Malvegil dons the silver armor of his ancestors and heads to the courtyard of his castle.

 

Thump! Thump! Thump!

 

The beat of the hooves can be heard.  Cresting the horizon is a the silhouette of a figure in black flowing robes atop a horse.

 

The figure moves closer, yet the face is obscured, and on the whites of the eyes can be seen.

 

Eyes full of power.

 

“Open the gate!” yells Malvegil.

 

The figure rides in.   The castle is abrupt with energy, for not many have seen a man of such little describe.   A young squire, trembling at the dark ride nods and looks to the ground as he holds the horse.

 

The dark ride dismounts, kicking the sand about his feet he makes his way towards Malvegil.

 

The knights of the castle tense up, fearing this might be an assassin.

 

“Your men fear me”

 

Malvegil grins.

 

The dark ride pulls back the hood on his cloak and laughs.

 

“Hahahaha! This is my uncle!” yells Malvegil laughing while he embraces his uncle.

 

“Come we have much to do!”

 

And thus begins the forming of Darkness which will envelope the enemies of Albion and give us the power to destroy our enemies.